Ann paused, blinking, and put down what she had to assume was the Arts and Leisure section of the paper. It was impossible to read, of course, but she liked the pictures. Prokovia had a positively schizophrenic fashion sense. Colourful peasant garb shared the page with gleaming monochromatic art deco styles, and they did not blend or mix. It was as if some clueless idiot were trying to thin out the oil paint of the past with distilled water.
She hadn’t expected to find anything. If she’d expected to find something, she would’ve picked up the dictionary and tried to decipher the headlines. She was just enjoying the pictures and being thorough.
Milo’s glasses were folded on the desktop. She put them on and peered at the photograph, raking her finger across the page to replay and pause the motion. Off to one side, a tall, dark-haired man in an elaborate mask pulled a shorter man in a plainer mask close enough to kiss, and toasted the camera with a champagne glass.
Maggie looked up from her maps. She knew Ann didn’t like to wear the glasses. “What is it?”
“Well,” Ann said, loud enough to draw in the whole room. “Now, I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. This is a black and white photo I’m looking at. But this is the first time I’ve seen anything in this paper that looked like local news with a person in it who’s rendered as darker than about twenty-percent grey. Cin, can you read this?”
Hyacinth took the paper, pushed up her reading glasses and had a look. “I think it’s ‘Happy Birthday’ but let me…” She blinked, too, but not at the coloured-or-ethnic-looking individual. That guy with the long dark hair and the champagne glass gave her a serious case of the whim-whams.
Lots of guys have long dark hair, she told herself. Straighten yourself out, Alice, if you can, ha-ha…
She realized she was using his voice to scold herself. She shook it away with a shudder. “My name is not Alice,” she muttered aloud.
“Cin?” Ann said.
Hyacinth shook her head. “Nothing, I’m jumping at shadows. Hang on.” She handed back the paper and went looking for the dictionary.
The General switched off the radio and came nearer. “Pardon me, but we have had so little to jump at, I don’t think we should discount even a shadow at this point. What is the nature of this photograph?”
“I think it’s some upper-class twits at a party, and I’ve been one of those, so they all look a bit familiar,” Hyacinth said. “All right, it says ‘Happy Birthday,’ and I don’t know…”
“Familiar in what way?” said the General.
Hyacinth sighed. “This jerk in the butterfly mask and frock coat looks like the jerk who taught me how to work metal. A dead jerk who would not be that age or that height even if he were alive. And, trust me, if he were alive, he would’ve shown up to mess with us back when Barnaby was still here. Now, as near as I can tell, this is a puff piece about some restaurant that’s been operating for fifty years. It is local, Ann, but I think you’ve managed to identify some kinda ethnic person, with dark hair…”
“Holy shit, he’s even got the striped pants,” Maggie said, commandeering the paper.
Hyacinth shook her head. “Did I tell you about that?”
Maggie shrugged. “Maybe, but I had Erik draw him for me. A long time ago. In crayon. You know, he sees stuff…”
“What, stuff like David?” said Hyacinth. She paled. “Not walking around the house like he’d see Cousin Violet or Lame Anthony?”
Maggie shook her head. “No, no, no.” She paused with a hand to her mouth. “Well, I dunno. I didn’t ask.”
Hyacinth had her mouth open, with nothing but a faint leak of air coming out, even paler than before.
“No-no, he would’ve mentioned seeing a dead guy,” Maggie said. “He was always on the lookout for his mom. I think he only sees dead people in memories — only they’re not his memories.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I thought he was trying to draw pinstripes and I tried to show him how to do it better and he got annoyed. He wanted big wide stripes like those, not like a suit, like… Clown pants.” She looked up at Hyacinth, sheepishly. “Uh, no offence?”
“I used to steal things out of his wardrobe but never the clown pants,” Hyacinth replied. “Don’t worry about it.”
“What are you all babbling about?” Mordecai demanded. He’d been… not quite napping, with an open newspaper on the bed beside him. Spending three to five hours a day in a magically-induced coma in a timeless void dimension was hell on a man’s circadian rhythm. It was not his fault he was tired all the time and couldn’t sleep at night!
“What is the point of this?” he said. He commandeered the paper and had a look at the picture. “This? This is just a bunch of rich people amusing themselves! Are you people incapable of staying on-task for more than…”
Ann took his arm and tugged him back towards the bed. “I thought I might’ve seen an immie, er, ah…” She covered her mouth and responded to Mordecai’s scowl with a disarming smile. “Innate magic-user. Coloured person. But it’s probably just a tourist.”
He jerked the paper back when she tried to take it from him and examined the photo again. “An ‘immie’ with black hair?”
“They make wigs,” Ann said. “And paint, come to think of it. If I had to change the whole colour of my face for a disguise I’d definitely wear a mask like that, there is no way in hell that much foundation would stay put around my nose and eyes…”
Mordecai shoved the paper against her padded chest. “Congratulations, you have found an entire restaurant full of coloured people in wigs and paint. I’m sure Erik must be in there somewhere and I imagine he’s having a lovely time pretending to be white!” He collapsed onto the bed with a huff.
Ann beamed at the room in general and clasped her hands. “I think we ought to break for dinner! What would everyone…”
“If you bring back more doughnuts,” Mordecai said, “next time you phone home, I am coming with you so I can tell Calliope you are cheating on her.”
Ann huffed a little sigh of her own and turned back to the others with a brave smile. “What would everyone like?”
“A decent pizza,” Hyacinth said sullenly.
“Cheese and onion potato chips,” Maggie added.
“A hot dog that isn’t a mile long and made out of an actual intestine,” Mordecai muttered.
“Pigeons are similarly out of the question,” said the General. “Alas.”
“Bagel sandwiches!” Ann said brightly. “Do we like bagel sandwiches?” After what seemed like a long, irritated silence, she added, “Do we have any objection to bagel sandwiches? Is there any bagel-related trauma in the house that I should be aware of, my dears? Hmm?”
◆◇◆
“Dobryy vecher!” Ann sang out, in tune with the tinkling bell above the shop door. “Lyubochka!” She laughed.
The heavyset, aproned matron behind the counter straightened and smiled. “Annushka!” She pressed her hands over her heart. Presumably there was a heart in there somewhere, but it was well-insulated indeed. “Please, speak me Anglais. I learn, for little Lena. I learn!”
“I would like five,” Ann said, holding up the fingers of one gloved hand. “Of your lovely new bagel sandwiches! And do you happen to have anything dessert-like that isn’t a doughnut?”
The woman behind the counter laughed. “Do everyone in Marsellia talk so fast, Annie?”
“Oh, no, Luba, they’re always asking me to slow down too.” Ann approached the counter. “Do you have any of those darling delivery menus? Um, little menu?” She tapped the counter with a finger. “Please.”
Luba Morozova, purveyor of fine doughnuts and baked goods — and lately, of bagel sandwiches — shook a finger at her. “You need glasses like your brother, Annushka!”
“Oh, I suppose I do.” Ann framed her face with both hands. “But I just can’t bear to cover up my pretty eyes!”
“Is just how girls are!” Luba said, beaming. “Which sandwiches you want try?”
“Definitely two of these with the smoked sausage and cheese,” Ann replied, pointing. “Two of my friends are very into protein. And, let’s see, I have one vegetarian, so definitely one of these with the bacon, egg and cheese…”
Luba put a hand over the menu and stopped her, perplexed. “‘Vegetarian’ is no meat, Annie, isn’t it? No meat?”
“Bacon is a vegetable,” Ann replied.
“In Marsellia, bacon is vegetable,” Lube said. “Is new magic or just religious thing?”
Ann laughed. “I suppose it’s a Hyacinth thing, dear. She used to be a medic — er, that’s not quite a doctor, and a bit more than a nurse, but for the army — and I think she’s just sick of things dying in general. Unless they produce bacon. It’s sort of a joke.”
“Oh, I see,” Luba said politely.
“Anyway, I think two of these with the bacon,” Ann said, pointing. “Our dad is still having a little culture shock, and the local meats…”
“Is so nice you bring him with you and take care of him,” Luba said. “They say Marsellia have no respect for parents or tradition and that is not true. Is just different. Lena is having a lovely time and she never forget to write!”
“If we wanted him to stay home, we would’ve had to shoot him,” Ann muttered. She looked up with a smile. “Oh, but respectfully, Luba. Yes. Just to keep him safe — er, you know, international business is all a bit stressful. But he’s very invested in our, uh, wellbeing.”
Luba covered Ann’s hand with her own. “Is Mr. Rose… Well… I don’t want to be mean, Annie. He’s very sweet. But he can take care of self, or do you…?” She smiled and shrugged. “Sort of manage and then let him out to do math?”
“Well,” Ann said, wincing. She also didn’t like to be mean. Milo had improved a lot since moving into Hyacinth’s house, but it wasn’t as if she could go away entirely and stop managing him.
Lately, in this stressful situation, it felt very much like she only let him out to do math. She was awfully glad he liked the doughnut lady, and Luba was so kind to him. At least this way he was willing to go for a little walk in the morning, and eat breakfast with the family.
She didn’t want to say anything that would make the doughnut lady like him any less.
“…He can take care of himself, Luba. He does. But it’s hard for him, being how he is. Not everyone is nice like you. We like him to have a safe place where nobody tries to make him talk or stares at him for being weird. This is, er, a tremendous opportunity for him, but he wouldn’t have felt safe going alone. So we’re here to help. That’s all it is.”
“You are very sweet, too, Annie,” Luba said, smiling. “That’s only four sandwiches. You want one more?”
“Oh, yes, let me see!” Ann bent over the menu again. “One of the tuna salad ones, for me, please. I’m trying to keep my girlish figure!”
“Mayonnaise is not good for girlish figures,” Luba said gently.
“It’s salad, Luba,” Ann said. “It says ‘salad’ right there in perfect Anglais. Salad is good for me!”
“And bacon is vegetable!” Luba replied. “All right.” She took five poppyseed bagels from the lighted display case. “What about dessert? Is just for Mr. Rose, or you all having some?”
“Oh, no, Luba, Milo’s having a sandwich, I’d just like something sweet for after…”
Luba scolded her with a finger. “You are not good at math, Annushka. Two sandwiches for friends who like protein, one for bacon-eating vegetarian, one for your dad, and one for you. Poor Mr. Rose eats dessert for dinner or nothing at all!”
“Oh,” Ann said. She covered her mouth with a hand and laughed through it, “Ha-ha-ha, yes. I suppose I am… Terrible at math. Yes.”
We always get half a dozen doughnuts! She thinks there are six of us!
I know! I’m not actually bad at math, I just wasn’t thinking about it! Oh, damn it, I’m going to get us all thrown in a gulag just by running my goddamned mouth!
“Um, well, I think one of these, with the bacon, cheese and tomato. That looks nice.”
“Toasted?”
“Yes, please.”
“All of them or just that one, Annie?”
“Oh, um, all of them, I suppose. Yes. Thank you, Luba. Oh! And what are these adorable little creatures? Are they candies?”
“Dumpling shaped like bunny with chocolate filling!” Luba said.
“Well, I just can’t resist,” Ann said, smiling. “I’ll take six!”
She rocked nervously on her high-heeled shoes and tried to confine the conversation to little Lena’s progress at the secretarial school, as Luba assembled sandwiches and deposited bunny-shaped dumplings in a cardboard carton like a set of macarons.
I’m so stupid…
It’s not your fault.
It certainly is my fault! I’m the one who shouldn’t be allowed out. I’m the one who starts treating total strangers in a hostile foreign land like they’re my best friends!
If she gets suspicious, we just won’t come here anymore. I am positive Luba isn’t a spy.
But you love her… and look how cute those little bunny-things are! They’re like… éclairs with features!
…Ann, I love you very much, but I do not need éclairs with features as much as I need to stay out of a gulag and find Erik. Anxiety is my thing. Cut it out.
“…Yes, yes, I suppose I have noticed that,” Ann said airily. “We don’t always say things so they make sense, Luba, you know? It’s no wonder poor Lena gets confused. A ‘coffee break’ is something like ten or fifteen minutes — they usually have coffee in the building for you when they give you a ‘coffee break.’ A ‘tea break’ is either like lunch or a snack, so that’s longer, or they just send you home. I think those people who sit in cafés drinking coffee for hours are artists and students trying to keep warm. The cheapest apartments don’t have any hot water or heat. Is it like that here?”
“Annie, they would die!” Luba cried. “In Marsellia, people go to café so they don’t die?”
“Well… Most of them don’t. Die, I mean. It’s a bit warmer there. La bohème is just an opera. I’m sure Lena will be fine, dear. Now I really must be going…”
Luba grinned and raised her right hand, as if asking to make a polite interruption at a community meeting. “Day Pyat’?”
“Of course!” Ann lifted her right hand too.
There was a cheerful little chime. A floating red figure with an asterisk appeared above Ann’s hand: Ç8.45!* Beneath this, in fine print, it said, Current Local Exchange Rate, but it faded almost too quickly to read. In the same instant, a ghostly green figure appeared above Luba’s hand: Ꝕ761.13!
Luba applauded. “So fun!”
“It is!” Ann said. “Ooh, honestly, I hope the whole continent starts using it!”
Luba pulled open the drawer under the cash register and frowned at the ledger. For a moment, Ann was afraid it hadn’t gone through. She didn’t have any cash!
“Annie,” said the doughnut lady, “you are still using Mr. Rose’s account?”
“Oh, well.” Ann shrugged, sheepish. “It’s hard for a girl like me to have a bank account of her own, you know.”
“Lena has one,” Luba said. She clucked and shook her head. “You are modern woman, Annushka. Stick up for yourself and have Mr. Rose pay you for your hard work, or you go to school here like little Lena and get job, yes?”
“Maybe when I get home, Luba, darling,” Ann said. “I don’t know how long we’ll be here, but I promise I’ll look into that as soon as I get home.”
“I wish you’d stay,” Luba said with a sigh.
“We’ll visit,” Ann said. “Milo and I. We promise.” She lifted the bag of sandwiches and put her hand on the door. “Thanks again, Lyubochka!”
“Any time, Annushka!”
◆◇◆
It was dark enough, so Ann walked past the Elysium Inn. She could still make out the glow of its sign from the end of the alley. There was a chain link fence here, with barbed wire lining the top and an obvious hole in it. The actual gate was a block down, closed and locked. Someone had made this discreet little emergency exit with wire cutters — quite some time ago, judging by the rust.
She tucked the paper bag under her arm, drew both elbows tightly against her, picked up her skirt and slipped through.
It wasn’t all that different, that was the eerie thing. The cobbles had mud and ice in the cracks on either side of the fence. The buildings were the same sort of red brick. The snow fell and gathered in all the gutters the same way. The streetlamps were electric and automatic, all of the same gaslamp-like style. There were storefronts with board signs ringed in light bulbs, just like the doughnut shop and the Elysium Inn. Above them were dark windows with visible curtains. There were some windows like that at ground level, too, where a person could peek inside. Some of the tables were set for dinner, with black, mouldering food, and burned-out candles surrounded by puddles of cold wax.
There were no people at all.
This was the Kirov Ghetto — that was evident from the signage — and it had been abandoned sometime early last spring. The newsstands were all displaying papers and magazines dated no later than April 30th of 1387, Hyacinth had gone through and checked.
It had all been done in one night, they said. Like a fairy story. A long time ago. Less than a year, but everyone who was willing to talk about it still treated that like a long time ago. And nobody had any idea where the people had gone.
It wasn’t odd to have a ghetto, historically-speaking. San Rosille had one! But, to Ann and Milo, it didn’t make much sense that people would segregate themselves and stay that way. Brickdust Row hadn’t been very ghetto-y even before the war, and after, the whole situation fell apart and got gentrified and converted into cheap apartments. Anyone could live there. They had one police force, one public transportation system, one harbour — well, two harbours, but everyone used both. It was so much easier! Why would they even bother with something like this?
Subsidized housing, they said, like a magic spell. Subsidized housing for magic-users. Oh, you don’t have that in Marsellia? What a shame. It’s much better for them. They can’t really live like normal people. You know that?
Ann supposed she did know that. Her family got along all right in Strawberryfield, but they were certainly not living “like normal people,” whatever that meant. Maybe she wouldn’t have said “no” if the government offered her a cute little home like one of these, but she’d be suspicious of it. There was no such thing as a free lunch, in her experience, only various flavours of scam.
She doubted the government had rounded them all up and sold them timeshares. She wouldn’t put it past them, but it was probably something even more sinister. People wouldn’t just walk off on dinner and all their things for something nice.
“It is nice, though, Milo,” she said aloud, but reverently soft. “I mean, it’s not just because I’m not wearing glasses, you’ve been here. It doesn’t look like they made it crummier on purpose. It doesn’t look like a jail, or a punishment. They put barbed wire around it, but it’s just the same as everything else around here. I don’t know what the hell they thought they were keeping out, or keeping in.”
Milo caught her eye. He was in one of the dark windows. By necessity, he was wearing her dress and her hairstyle and no glasses, but you could tell from the expression and the lack-of-voice. He signed it for her, although he knew he didn’t have to do that for her to understand: FREAKS. He put a little extra twist on it, making eye-contact for a brief moment, so she knew he meant «freaks like us.»
Ann sighed. She signed while addressing the faint reflection in the glass, “Not ‘like us,’ Milo. I know they are like us, they are people, they have laundromats and grocers and movie theatres and homes just like us, because all that is here. But people aren’t afraid of us like people are afraid of them. People aren’t even afraid of Maggie and the General that way — although they should be. It’s not any picnic being us, but it’s not at all the same for Erik and Mordecai. When freaks like us disappear, they find us dead in a canal. Not like this.”
Milo made another sign, one they’d come up with after finding out how the glowy paint at the watch factory worked: BAD PAINT. «radioactive.»
Ann nodded and drifted away from the window. It was weird enough that there was nobody guarding all these abandoned things, no police or security wandering around. Ann had broken into this place with her family multiple times and revisited almost every night, and she’d never found anybody stealing all the abandoned things either. Nobody was rattling the doorknobs and sizing up the real estate. Nobody had applied orange cones, scaffolding, caution tape, or renovations.
Here was an acre of land in the middle of a cosmopolitan city crawling with tourists, and not one enterprising businessman had set up a folding table to sell coffee mugs. It was as if Cyre were pretending this place had disappeared along with the people.
Or, as Milo said, as if the Kirov Ghetto were quietly trying to melt their bones with cancer. It had to be something invisible like that, because every time she came here, she saw nothing more unusual than a perfectly nice neighbourhood with no one living in it.
It was cold, though. And creepy. It was easy to warm up the sandwiches, no matter how cold they got, but there was only so much “creepy” Ann could tolerate in one go, even with Milo along for company. Talking to him in those dark, empty windows wasn’t much fun.
Again, she didn’t expect to find anything. If she had, she would’ve brought Milo’s glasses. Or a human being with decent distance vision. She thought she’d make her way to the nearest newsstand and leaf through the remaining ephemera. Maybe there would be something interesting or suspicious to take back to the hotel for translation. If nothing else, it would be something for Em and Maggie to play with — sometimes they felt useless and cranky before bed.
There was a sound. The streets were dim, snowy, and empty; every sound was magnified like a jump scare in a suspense film, even Ann’s footsteps. This was louder than the usual mouse-rustling, larger, a potential threat. She dropped the sandwiches, drew a ten-inch hatpin out of her purse, and demanded of the shadows between the pale electric lights, “Who’s there?”
There came an outright clatter, and a small, dark object barrelled past her, making her gasp.
“Oh!” She covered her mouth with a gloved hand and confined her voice to a whisper, “Oh, I’m sorry!” She picked up the sandwiches, threaded the hatpin through the lapel of her coat, and leafed through the split bagels like a series of file folders. “Here…” She found a small circlet of bacon and held it out. “Here, sweet baby. You’re hungry, aren’t you?” She smiled. “Yes, that’s right…”
◆◇◆
“Oh, my goodness, who is a wet little baby?” cried the dark-haired man with the fussy little goatee, as he examined the stains on the towel. “Annie, wherever did you find him?”
The bedraggled animal continued to eat tuna directly out of the tin, only complaining when Andrej got too near its head with the towel.
“Sniffing around in the alley by that hole in the fence,” Ann said. “Are you sure it’s a boy? I was so afraid she might have kittens somewhere…”
The night clerk picked up the dangling gold tag on the bright blue collar. “It says his name is Misha.”
“Misha!” Ann said. “Can we take him home? Does it say? Is it far?”
Andrej shook his head. He flipped the tag and showed the fine print on the back. “It says he belongs to Zoe and Vita and they miss him very much, but the address is in Kirov. They left him, and I don’t think they’re coming back. Misha lives here now, I think…” He tried to scoop up the cat; it snarled, so he let go and backed off. “He needs a bath, Annie,” Andrej laughed. “I don’t know how we’re going to give him one, but I think he’s got white fur under all this mud. Do you see?”
Ann nodded. “I think you’re right.” She carefully picked up the tag and had a look at both sides. “Zoe and Vita. Does that sound like a couple of little girls to you? Sisters? Children?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps, but I don’t think it matters. A couple of little girls couldn’t very well stay behind by themselves.”
“No, I suppose not.” Ann sighed. “Well, they’re a bit muddy, but do you mind if I warm these sandwiches in the kitchen, dear? I can come back and help you with Misha if you want, but I must let my family know I’m back safely with dinner.” She leaned in and lowered her voice to a playful whisper, “Do you mind about the dinner?”
Andrej beamed and shooed her with a hand. “I’ll never tell. Besides, you found us a mousecatcher!”
Five minutes later, Ann swung into the elevator with six bagel sandwiches and six eclairs-with-features artfully arranged on a borrowed plate. She’d bring it back to the kitchen, wash it, and check on the cat later. She waved an elaborate farewell, and laughed when the malfunctioning doors bounced open before closing. “Once more into the breach!” she cried bravely, though muffled. She thought she heard Andrej laugh in reply.
◆◇◆
Milo wanted her to be careful. There had to be a minimum amount of movement necessary to make the elevator go. After some experimentation, they would figure out what it was, he would design a pocket-sized machine that moved exactly enough every single time, and they would stop tempting the closet-of-death to kill them. Right, Ann?
“Five, six, seven, eight!” Ann cried happily. “Charleston, Charleston! Made in Chelaquia!” She thudded the heels of both boots on the unstable floor and spread both arms for balance as if inviting a hug. Holding the edge of the plate in a death grip, she began to tap dance. “Some dance, some prance! Baby, let me see ya do the Charleston, Charleston. Gosh, how you can shuffle…”
Oh, gods, that’s a cable fraying, I can feel it…!
“Ev’ry step you do, leads to something new. Man, I’m tellin’ you, It’s a lapazoo! Ha-ha-ha…” She stepped onto the floor and let the elevator give her back foot a boost as it rebounded from her weight. “Da-da, da-da…” She spun around and soft-shoed gratefully backwards, until the heel of her boot bumped into the door. “It’s only me! I have sandwiches! Sorry I’m so late!”
Maggie offered her a self-conscious smile and a little wave. Nobody else even bothered to pretend they cared.
Hyacinth was still holding the Arts and Leisure section, playing with the photo and trying to justify her emotional reaction to an audience who didn’t seem to care much about that either. “Seriously, you guys. It’s even a butterfly mask. David had a real thing for butterfly motifs — maybe I never told you, but I swear to the gods it’s true. He had wallpaper like that in the downstairs toilet! If Barnaby were here, he’d get it. He’d be freaking out even worse, I’m sure of it!”
“Cin, sweetheart, put down the paper and have a sandwich,” Ann said.
Mordecai took the whole plate from her and began examining the contents. “I hate sausage. Oh, I thought I liked it once, but now I hate it retroactively. Prokovia has ruined even the memory of sausage that lives in my brain!”
“I know, dear. The others have bacon.”
He grumbled and sat on the bed with a bacon sandwich. “What took you so long?”
“I found the cutest little kitty!” Ann replied. “He was so hungry and lonely, as soon as he saw I had bacon, he crawled right into my lap. I don’t think he likes Andrej very much, but it’s probably just because of the towel. He has a collar and he belongs to two cute little girls, but…”
She wobbled and sat quite suddenly on the bed. “But…”
She pulled a tissue out of the front of her dress. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me… They’re gone and they left him, and he’s been living in that empty ghetto all alone for almost a year. He likes people!” She sobbed and swiped the tissue under her nose. “I’m sorry. This is so stupid. He’s fine. Dear Andrej found him a can of tuna and he’s fine. He probably doesn’t even care he’ll never see his family again, he’s a cat!”
She felt an arm go around her shoulders, careful and warm. She glanced up and made sure, but she already knew it was Mordecai. Despite being a thousand miles away from his beloved cello, he still smelled of rosin, varnish, and hair oil. He was very good at pulling himself together when someone else was falling apart.
“Ann,” he said. “You’re not a cat. You can care. It’s all right.”
“There’s just no point,” Ann said, shuddering. She shook her head and scrubbed the tissue across her face again. “I… I have a human being to be sad about. I have a family of my own to miss! This is stupid. This is so stupid and I’m sorry…”
He pulled her nearer and put her head against his shoulder, holding it there. “No, dear. It’s not. It’s all right.”
She shook her head, but she wrapped both arms around him and stayed where he’d put her. “I’m sorry. I don’t like to upset you like this. I’m really sorry.”
Somebody sat on the other side of her and put arms around her and Mordecai both. This person was soft, so Ann knew without looking it had to be Maggie. Hyacinth had no padding and the General had no softness, or kindness.
“It’s okay, Ann. I know it’s hard right now. We’ve got you.” Yes, that was Maggie.
“Did this cat seem like it could use medical attention?” Ah, and that was Hyacinth.
Ann sniffled and sat back. “I don’t know, but you might as well check. I think Andrej was going to try to give him a bath, so he might need medical attention, even if Misha doesn’t.”
Hyacinth nodded and grabbed her purse. She felt a bit stupid without her real doctor bag, but she carried more first aid stuff than the average person.
Maggie gave Ann another squeeze and stood up. “I’m gonna go too. I like cats. That okay?”
Ann smiled and nodded. “Yes, dear, he likes people. Just not towels.”
Maggie grinned. She grabbed a sausage sandwich on her way out the door, and saluted with it.
Ann spared a brief glance at the General and turned back to Mordecai. “Are you okay, Em?”
He nodded, but he didn’t look up at her or speak. She thought he might be afraid that if he did, he wouldn’t be okay anymore. She didn’t press him. She put an arm around him and held his hand. “Then that’s all right,” she said softly.
They’d get to the sandwiches eventually.
